


Come Make Me

by ethanoliver



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Canon Compliant, Canon Continuation, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), James Bond References, M/M, Making Out, Pet Names, Play Fighting, Shirtless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-15 18:35:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19301458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ethanoliver/pseuds/ethanoliver
Summary: Without assignments from Hell keeping him busy, Crowley has become pent up with excess energy, frustrations seemingly endless and without hiatus. When Aziraphale tells him his ministrations are childish, Crowley finds a way to let out some of that energy.





	Come Make Me

Without any assignments or missions or any real reason to tempt humans toward good or evil, it’s safe to say Crowley has become infinitely more bored than he was before the end of The End. At least before he was a minor inconvenience, a bother to some degree. But now without that job, Crowley has begun to feel cooped up. Of course he has his plants, and his Bentley, and Aziraphale. And admittedly Aziraphale had been keeping him busy with frequent lunch dates, walks through the park, and nights tucked away in the back of the bookstore with a few bottles of good wine.

He can’t help but feel, however, that he has some sort of pent up energy. It’s as though some sort of imaginary floodgate is holding in his adrenaline and he can’t seem to get it out. It makes him feel like a human teenager one rock song away from punching a hole in his wall. Aziraphale has managed to keep Crowley relatively calm since he had started feeling this emotional block, but it’s obvious the angel is worried he has come to the edge of his control on the situation.

Crowley lays sprawled out on his bed, wearing only a comfortable pair of trackies, sunglasses making a home on his side table. He has to admit, Aziraphale is right about human clothes: no matter how cumbersome, they could be quite comfortable and stylish if you knew where to look, and the demon did.

Aziraphale is scheduled to visit his flat at any time, and Crowley looks forward to it. He’s hoping seeing the angel will pull him into reality, or help him release some of his energy so tightly locked away. He wonders whimsically what in the universe it would take to feel less stiff. He hardly has time to make a list as Aziraphale steps into the flat and calls his name, knocking on the door a long passed formality.

Crowley pulls himself out of bed and makes his way to the kitchen, yawning and fixing his mussed hair with a snap. Aziraphale wrinkles his nose with a teasing smile and chastises, “Have you only just woken up? It’s half past twelve.”

“I’ve been awake, angel, just not up,” he responds, a sleepy fondness he’s come to recognize in his own voice present. “’s not like we have big plans, just whatever movie you’ve brought. What is it?”

“Ooh! Goldfinger, Sean Connery,” he reads matter-of-factly, holding up the movie as if to prove he does indeed have it. Crowley softens despite himself, appreciative that the angel would make such an effort to pick a movie he’d like. He knows Aziraphale would not pick a Bond movie to watch if it were only himself. Still, even with the prospect of such a classic, Crowley feels restless, limbs itching to... To do something, he isn’t sure what. He finally looks at Aziraphale, not just glances but looks over. He’s wearing a tan jumper that has no business looking as soft as it does, and some sort of comfortable looking brown trousers. He’s already taken his shoes off, terribly ugly argyle socks visible to the entire flat.

“Come on then, hurry up, you set up the film and I’ll get snacks,” Crowley says, meaning to sound off a complaint but his tone coming through too softly for Aziraphale to think he means it. Aziraphale obliges and in a few short minutes, they’re curled up on Crowley’s sofa with a bowl of sweet popcorn and chocolate buttons (Crowley keeps them around only because of the grin Aziraphale gives him when he pulls them down from the cupboard). They’ve taken to being rather affectionate, a sort of silent agreement that began long ago that just... Never really stopped. Aziraphale sits long ways on the sofa, Crowley tucked in the space between the angel’s legs and the back of the seat, his own legs haphazardly placed in Aziraphales’ lap.

Once or twice during the film Crowley shifts, one particular antsy movement causing Aziraphale to pause the movie and turn to him. “My dear... Are you alright?” he asks, concern not overwhelming, but certainly present. Crowley reclaims his limbs, pulling himself into a tight line confined to the edge of the chair.

He grunts softly and says, “Fine. Don’t know why I wouldn’t be. I’m perfectly alright.” It’s utterly and completely unconvincing. He knows this full well, yet he still gives the response.

“Crowley, I’m serious,” he chides, turning his body to further face the demon. “This is getting rather ridiculous, all the fidgeting and pacing. You’re acting like a child.” To this reply, Crowley quirks his eyebrows. He knows he’s acting immature and even further proving Aziraphale’s point, but he can’t help it when the angel has just talked to him as if he’s his mother!

So Crowley does what any self respecting demon might do. He hops up from the couch and points a finger at Aziraphale, eyes bright with mischief and smile unable to hide. “I can’t control this! I’m pent up! I have nothing to channel all this energy into!”

Aziraphale stands against his better judgement, lips pressed together in a playful grin. “Well, my darling, I think you need to figure something out, get this under control. Frankly, I can’t handle it much longer.” With each passing moment, Crowley is lowering himself into position, ready to pounce. Aziraphale has seen his this way three times in the thousands of years they’ve known each other and all three ended with one of them pinned, giggling like schoolboys. If that was what Crowley needed, well... Who was Aziraphale to argue?

Flashing one final grin, Crowley growls, “Want me to stop? Come make me.”

With that, the two lunge forward, question of which of them miracles the carpet underneath them lost in a playful tussle. Hands grip muscles, legs thrash about, an angel is pinned, a demon is tossed off, and shouts and laughs and hollers echo off the walls. Blond curls bounce gleefully as Aziraphale rolls on top of Crowley in attempt to stop his kicks, but to no avail! They continue their wrestling match for nearly ten minutes when finally, a winner prevails.

Panting heavily, Crowley straddles Aziraphale, his wrists pinned above him and their foreheads only a sliver of space away from one another. Grins adorn both faces, breath slowing as they realize the fight is done. Aziraphale looks up into Crowley’s eyes, lips open to say something but closing quickly as he realizes it’s action he would prefer. Crowley knows, and wholeheartedly agrees. He would give his angel anything he wanted, especially when it’s precisely what he wants as well.

So with absolute carelessness, Crowley smashes his lips to Aziraphale’s, releasing his wrists in favor of holding the angel’s face. When Aziraphale’s arms wrap gently around him and pull him closer, the kiss softens, and they realize they have all the time in the world. Crowley presses himself to the angel, humming into his lips and pressing his tongue experimentally to his bottom lip. With a hum in return, Aziraphale opens his mouth for him, tilting his head back to allow better access. They allow themselves some time to adjust to this new experience, hands beginning to wander. Fingers running through hair, down arms, finding waistbands and mingling with the hem of a tan jumper. Breaking their kiss, Crowley leans back and helps Aziraphale to remove the sweater, pushing himself off the ground and helping the angel stand.

“Bed’s more comfortable,” he murmurs. Aziraphale nods without a word and allows himself to be pulled along to the bedroom, entirely enamored by Crowley. As soon as they reach the mattress, Aziraphale takes over, pressing Crowley into the sheets. They continue where they left off, kissing, hands traveling across one another, fleeting touches meant to memorize the other. Crowley’s hands tangle in Aziraphale’s hair and as the angel tugs once again at his waistband, he’s entirely certain he’s found the solution to his restlessness.

 

“I love you, angel,” Crowley admits as they lay side by side, himself exposed to the world and Aziraphale covered to his hips with the thin sheets, a foot poking out near the end of the bed. This isn’t the first time the demon has made such a confession. It will not be the last.

“I love you more, my dear,” Aziraphale counters, smile ever present as he reaches between them to take Crowley’s hand. This isn’t the first time the angel has made such a claim. It will not be the last.

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic posted to ao3 about ineffable husbands? It’s more likely that you’d think


End file.
